Missing Evidence
by dawn341
Summary: A Sentinel/Highlander crossover - Jim's evidence is missing and he wonders if he is going crazy. Note: This is not related to my other two Sentinel/Highlander crossovers.


Missing Evidence - A Sentinel/Highlander Crossover by Dawn Cunningham

Disclaimers:

None of the characters in this story belong to me. I'm just borrowing them and not getting paid for it.

Do not post or publish this story anywhere without my express permission. Feel free to share it with others as long as the disclaimers remain intact.

This story takes place during the third season of Highlander and some undetermined time in the Sentinel series. It is mainly a Sentinel story although Richie Ryan has a large part in it.

I wrote this story many years ago. It is not related to my other Highlander/Sentinel cross-overs.

* SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT

Missing Evidence - A Sentinel/Highlander Crossover by Dawn Cunningham

Jim Ellison rubbed at his tired eyes while he waited for the traffic light to turn green. He'd barely gotten to sleep the night before when he'd been summoned to a crime scene by his boss, Captain Simon Banks. Now it was four o'clock in the morning. Unfortunately, he needed to be back at work in eight hours. He'd sent Sandburg home hours ago because he knew that the anthropologist was teaching a class in the morning. Hopefully, Blair had gone to bed and managed to get some sleep.

For the past month, there had been a series of gruesome murders - four now - and he'd been assigned the case, along with Henry Brown and Brian Rafe. A late-night jogger had found the latest body - that of Mark Riker - just before midnight in a park near the bus depot. The jogger must have just missed the killer because the body had still been warm when the first police officers arrived. Unfortunately, the jogger hadn't seen anyone around.

There didn't seem to be any connection to the victims other than that they were all males, and in excellent condition. They all looked like they had worked out regularly, but none of them belonged to the same gym or used the same trainer. Two of them had even had extensive workout equipment in their homes. The youngest was twenty and the oldest was fifty, although he had the appearance of someone closer to thirty.

The only thing they did appear to have in common was the way they were killed. In each case, their clothes - and sometimes their skin - had rips and tears that must have come from a very sharp knife.

And they had all been beheaded.

He was running out of ideas. His best lead had been from the Seacouver police department. They'd had a series of similar murders, but had never been able to pin anything on the chief suspect - a guy by the name of Duncan MacLeod. Unfortunately, when the Seacouver police had checked on him this morning, he'd been at his place of residence. There was no way he could have been in Cascade at the time of death, and gotten back home again. Besides, his girlfriend - a highly respected doctor - had given him an alibi for the entire night. Needless to say, they were both pretty upset at the very early morning visit.

Jim opened his window a little, hoping the brisk air would help keep him alert until he got home. The light finally turned green and he moved forward. The streets were pretty much deserted, which was to be expected at this time of the morning. A very faint sound - something unusual - came to his sensitive ears, and he slowed down while trying to figure out what it was. It sounded like metal hitting metal, and he turned the truck in the direction from which it was coming. A few blocks later, he stopped and parked, climbing out of his vehicle to hear better.

The noise appeared to be coming from the roof of the large warehouse in front of him. The building covered almost two city blocks and was over two stories high. Looking around, he spotted a set of metal stairs that led up. He debated calling it in, but decided not to. For all he knew, it could just be something blowing around due to the wind. He headed for the stairs and climbed them quickly, not slowing down until he was almost level with the roof. What he saw when he peered over the edge sent him racing up the remaining stairs.

"Cascade P.D.! Hold it right there!" he yelled, drawing his gun and heading for the two men on the roof.

One of the two men gave him a startled look, then pulled his sword out of the abdomen of the second man. Without a word, he turned and fled. The second one collapsed to the roof. Jim paused long enough to discover the man was already dead, then ran after the fleeing suspect.

"Freeze!" he yelled, hoping the fleeing man would give up. Instead, the suspect had continued toward the edge of the roof. Figuring that there was probably a set of stairs on that side of the building, Ellison aimed his gun. His Sentinel sight allowed him to focus on the young man, even from that distance, and he fired his weapon.

The suspect stumbled forward for a second when the bullet hit him, then kept going. Jim fired another shot, and the suspect almost spun around as the bullet impacted. For a brief moment, Ellison stared at the young face before the man fell back and over the edge of the roof.

Jim ran over to the edge and looked down. The suspect had landed on a pile of trash bags, and his sword was on the ground a few feet away. Slowly, he moved down the stairs, keeping his gun pointed at the suspect until he reached the ground. By that time, he was fairly certain the man was dead. He carefully reached out and checked for a pulse. Nothing. It seemed such a shame. The man - kid, really - didn't seem to be much more than nineteen or twenty.

With a sigh, Jim holstered his weapon and headed around the building to his truck so he could call the incident in. It just didn't seem possible that a young kid could be running around chopping people's heads off. And where had he gotten a sword?

He made his report, then slumped against his truck while he waited for support. He thought about going back up to check out the crime scene, but he was afraid he was so tired that he might zone if he did it by himself. It took almost fifteen minutes for the first black and white to arrive. Captain Simon Banks pulled up almost right behind them.

"I was on my way home when I heard your call, Jim. What happened?"

"I found two men fighting on the roof - the first one stabbed the second one with a sword just as I arrived."

Simon's mouth almost dropped open, and he had to grab at his cigar to keep it from falling to the ground. "A sword?"

"Yes, sir. I checked the victim, but he was already dead, so I followed the suspect. He refused to stop, so I fired two rounds. He fell off the roof. I don't know if he was dead before or after he fell. His body is on the other side of the building, and the victim is still on the roof. I haven't touched anything, yet."

Simon nodded. "Forensics should be here soon." He turned to the two officers. "Go keep an eye on the one on the ground. I'll be there as soon as we check out the guy on the roof."

The officers turned and headed for the far side of the warehouse while Jim and Simon headed for the stairs. The captain went up first, and came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs.

"Where did you say the body was?"

"In the middle of the roof," Jim said with some exasperation. There was a full moon out. Surely, Simon should be able to see it even without enhanced vision.

Simon moved out on the roof, pulling a flashlight out of the pocket of his raincoat. "I don't see anything."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked as he moved on up. Unfortunately, his captain was right. "I swear there was a body there! And he was dead! Even if he wasn't, he couldn't have gone far with that kind of wound!" He moved over to where he'd last seen the body, letting his Sentinel senses expand to check it out. The metallic smell of blood assaulted his nose. "There's blood here."

Simon moved over, shining his light on the roof. "Not very much. What kind of wound did the man have?"

"He had a sword run through him! It was sticking out the back, for God's sake!"

"There's not enough blood here for that kind of wound," Simon pointed out. "Maybe the moonlight made it look worse than it was."

"He had no pulse! The moonlight wouldn't affect that," Jim protested.

An officer appeared at the far side of the roof and walked over to them.

"Um... Captain... we can't find a body." The officer almost sounded apologetic. He definitely sounded nervous.

"What kind of people do we hire?" Jim groused as he headed for the opposite side of the roof. He peered over the edge, looking down at the trash bags on the ground. He couldn't believe his eyes. There was no body, no sword, nothing at all. "He was right there!" he insisted, pointing straight down.

"Take it easy, Jim," Simon soothed him. "He must have just been stunned by the fall."

"I know when someone is dead. And he was dead. They both were."

"Then where are they?"

"I don't know!" Jim didn't know what else to say. How could two dead people get up and walk away? "Someone must have taken the bodies."

Simon looked at him, disbelief evident in his very body posture. "For what reason?"

"I don't know." He was beginning to sound like a broken record. Ellison hurried down the stairs to investigate the ground around the area. There ought to be some kind of trail - drops of blood that would indicate where the body had been taken, but he couldn't find it.

He felt a restraining hand on his shoulder and looked back at his captain.

"Go home, Jim. Get some sleep - in fact, sleep as long as you need. Maybe this will make more sense then."

"I'm not making this up."

"I believe you. I'll have Forensics do a full sweep of the place. In fact, why don't you let one of the officers drive you home."

"I can drive myself."

Simon placed an arm around his shoulders. "I'll feel better if someone else drives. You've been on duty for too many hours."

Jim knew that there was no way he could argue with his captain. He surrendered his car keys, then climbed in the passenger side of the truck. He couldn't decide whether Simon really believed him or not. He had to admit that if he'd been told the same things by another detective, Jim would have suggested the detective needed a job change or a very long vacation.

* SENT * SENT

Richie Ryan heaved a sigh of relief when the police officers finally left. He slowly crawled out of his hiding place behind a trash dumpster and a stack of empty boxes. He'd just barely come back to life in time to see his opponent coming down the stairs, sword in hand. He'd struggled to his feet and retrieved his own weapon, knowing he wasn't in any condition to continue their fight. He was still healing, whereas the other Immortal appeared to be fully healed. Before they had a chance to resume their battle, they'd heard the officers approach.

"We'll meet again," the other Immortal had promised before running off into the dark.

Richie had still been in a lot of pain from his healing wounds, but he managed to stagger a block from where he'd fallen from the roof and find a hiding place. Thankfully, they hadn't seen him, and had only searched around the other building.

Now he looked down at his blood-and-garbage-stained clothes. "Great. Just great. There goes another outfit," he murmured in disgust. "Being immortal is sure hard on the clothes." His first order of business would be to change clothes, then he had an Immortal to find.

* SENT * SENT

Despite Simon's orders, Jim didn't get all the sleep he needed because Blair was up and moving around before seven o'clock. His white noise generators couldn't mask the sounds of his Guide getting ready for work - no matter how quiet he tried to be. He waited until Sandburg had left before he stumbled out of bed and downstairs.

A long shower and two cups of coffee later, he started to feel human again. He was also awake enough to start thinking about the events of early that morning. He might have been able to convince himself that it had all been a bad dream except for the two missing rounds in his gun. Could he have made a mistake when he'd taken their pulses? Even if he had, they both would have been critically injured and wouldn't have been able to walk away on their own.

Well, speculation wasn't getting him any closer to the truth. He trotted up the stairs to his bedroom and got dressed for work. Maybe Simon and the Forensics team had found out something.

* SENT * SENT

"What do you mean they didn't find anything?" Jim paced back and forth in Simon's office. "They *had* to find something!"

Banks threw a folder across his desk. "Read it yourself. There were traces of blood, but not enough to indicate someone was fatally wounded. Brown has checked all the hospitals and no one has shown up with either gunshot wounds or sword wounds." He stood up and came around the desk. "Maybe you should take a few days off. Go fishing or something."

"In other words, you think I made this all up."

"I'm not saying that, Jim. I just think you could use the down-time."

"I'm not going anywhere until I figure out what happened," Jim insisted. "There has to be some explanation."

"And maybe there's a really simple one. Maybe the first man wasn't run through. Maybe it was a close miss - it was dark out. Maybe he just fainted."

"And maybe I missed the other guy when I shot at him?" Jim tossed in. "Maybe the trash bags he landed on cushioned his fall and he was just stunned."

"That's a possibility," Simon agreed. "See there's a logical explanation for everything, so there's no reason for you to not take off a few days."

"No way! I don't buy it, sir. I know what I saw."

Banks sighed, removing his glasses to rub at blood-shot eyes. "So where do we go from here?"

"First off, I'm going to go talk to our sketch artist. I think I can describe the suspect pretty well. I didn't pay much attention to the victim once I determined he was dead. Then, I'm going to pick up Sandburg and we're going to go over the crime scene again. With his help I'll be able to concentrate better."

"All right. I'll let you run with this for a while, Jim, but I want to be kept up to date."

"Yes, sir." Jim wasted no time in leaving the office. He knew he hadn't convinced Simon, but he'd bought himself some time to investigate. Maybe with Blair's help, he could find out what really happened.

* SENT * SENT

Jim paced around the hallway outside of Blair's class. He knew he should have waited in his Guide's office, but he figured they could save time leaving directly from here. It seemed to take forever before the class was dismissed.

"Hey, Jim. What are you doing here?" Blair asked as he bounced out of the room behind the rest of the students. "I have got the *greatest* idea. This is my last class of the day, and it's the weekend, so why don't we head out and do a little fishing. I'm sure Simon won't mind giving you a few days off."

Jim stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he finally figured it out. "Simon called you, didn't he?"

"Why would Simon have called me?" Blair asked, trying to keep his expression innocent.

Jim knew him better than that. "That's what I thought. Let me guess. He told you I need a little rest, didn't he?"

"Well, he didn't exactly put it that way," Blair confessed. "He just thought you'd been working a little too hard and deserved some time off. I thought it sounded like a great idea."

"Not until I find out what happened to my two dead bodies."

"*Two* dead bodies? What two dead bodies?" Blair's eyes grew wide.

Jim quickly explained what had happened the night before. "There either has to be two very critically wounded men out there, or there are two dead bodies. Either way, I'm going to find them."

"All right. What do you need me to do?"

Jim felt a sense of gratitude towards his friend. "I want to retrace my steps from last night. See if I missed anything."

"Let's go." Blair slung his backpack over one shoulder and pointed toward the exit.

Jim drove back to the spot where it had all started the night before. "I was at this traffic light when I heard a noise."

"What kind of noise?"

"Like metal hitting metal. It must have been the sword."

"What was it hitting? Do you think he was chasing the victim around and randomly hitting things with the sword? Wouldn't there be some indication of that?"

"That's right. There should be." He continued driving until he reached the building. "I parked here, then went up those stairs." He pointed them out to Blair.

"Did the noises continue after you got here?"

Jim thought back. "Yes. They didn't stop until just before I reached the top of the stairs." He led the way up to the roof, carefully examining the metal of the stairs and the railings. There were no marks to indicate that they had been hit by anything.

"So, then what happened?"

"I paused here." Jim stopped on the same step that he had the night before. "I looked over the edge just in time to see the suspect impale the victim with a sword."

Blair moved up next to him, then climbed one more step so he could see the same area. "And where were they?"

"About the middle of the roof." Jim finished climbing the stairs and walked over to the spot. "Right about here. The victim was on the ground and I stopped to check his pulse. He was dead, so I went after the suspect."

Blair looked around. "So, what was the noise from?"

Jim realized that there was nothing in that general area. "There has to be something." He prowled around the roof, trying to find something that was loose that would have accounted for the noise. Other than some vents and skylights, the roof was completely empty. "I don't know, Chief." He checked each of the skylights, but each was securely fastened.

"What exactly did it sound like?"

"It was kind of like ching, clang, ching," Jim tried to replicate the sounds until he noticed the big grin on his friend's face. He aimed a playful swat at Blair's head, which the young man just barely managed to duck.

"Okay..." Blair looked around again. "Is there anything unusual about the roof?"

Jim squatted down, using his sight, his sense of smell, then finally touching the crime scene. "Everything's normal or it was washed away by the rain this morning." Rain was almost a daily occurrence in Cascade, and today had been no exception.

Blair paced around the area for a few moments. "Well, I'm out of ideas. What's next?"

"We check out swords. Where would you buy a sword sharp enough to cut off someone's head?"

Blair shrugged. "I guess we can rule out Walmart," he quipped. "You're the ex-Ranger. Where would *you* buy a sword?"

"Guns, grenades, rocket launchers - those I know how to find. The only swords I've ever dealt with came with dress uniforms. They were definitely not sharp enough to cut off a head."

"Maybe we should be looking for antiques," Blair suggested. "Cavalry swords and stuff like that. Or maybe that place over on fifth - you know - the place that sells all that martial arts stuff. Maybe they have swords for sale."

"Those are both good ideas." Jim reached for his cell phone. "I'll check with Simon to see if he can get someone working on a list of places." After a few moments on the phone, he hung up. "Change in plans, Chief. They found the latest victim's car at the bus depot. Simon wants us to check it out."

They headed back down the stairs and drove to the bus station. Rafe and Brown met them there.

"We got some info on the latest victim. Riker was employed by Sanders construction company. Been with them for five years - no major problems with him. Normally, Riker worked out of their Portland office, but he agreed to transfer to Cascade because they were short-handed up here. He's only been in town a few weeks. That's his car, and here are the keys. He had them in his pocket when he was killed."

Jim took the keys and walked over to a beautifully restored, cherry red, Ford Torino. He checked the car over very carefully, but could find nothing suspicious.

"So, was he leaving town or picking up someone?" Blair asked.

"My guess is that he was picking someone up. If he was leaving town, why would he take a bus when he had a car? For that matter, why would he have parked his car here? There's long-term parking behind the station. Besides, I wouldn't want to leave this kind of car in this part of town for very long." Jim turned to the other two detectives. "Check out the bus schedule from last night. See what buses were due in, who was driving them, and see if you can get names or a description of everyone who got off. Someone must be looking for Riker. And show them the sketch I had made up. Maybe someone will remember our suspect hanging around last night."

"We're on it," Henry said, before heading into the terminal with Rafe.

Jim looked around the area. The park where the body was found was right across the street. Had Riker been dragged from his car into the park? Or had he gone willingly? Had he known his killer? Could the killer be the person who got off the bus? If so, did they have more than one killer? Or had the killer left town, then come back again?

Suddenly, Jim spotted a young man headed for the bus depot. Almost without thinking he zoomed his sight in. It was the same man from the night before. The man he had chased across the roof. The man that he'd shot. The man he'd thought was dead. He drew his gun and took off at a run. This time he wasn't going to get away.

* SENT * SENT

Richie ran through a mental checklist as he headed back to the bus. He'd gotten rid of his bloody clothes, depositing them in a trash bin several miles from the bus depot and the warehouse where he'd fought Charles Swanson. Even if they were found, there would be nothing to link the clothes back to him.

There was the small problem of the cop, though. Richie had no idea whether the man would be able to recognize him if they met again. Not that he had any intention of meeting any cops while he stayed here. He knew the smart thing to do would be to get on the first bus out of town. It's what his teacher, Duncan MacLeod, would have told him to do.

On the other hand, he really wanted to go after Swanson. The other Immortal had killed one of Richie's friends by cheating. If Swanson wasn't stopped, he would continue taking heads - in fights he didn't deserve to win. Richie figured he had the best chance to stop him because he knew how Swanson was doing it. That knowledge had given him the edge when they'd fought. Otherwise, he might have ended up just as dead as his friend.

All he had to do was locate the other Immortal. Richie briefly thought about contacting Joe Dawson. The Watcher would be able to help him find Swanson. But he didn't want to put Joe into a position where he'd have to choose between his vows to not interfere and his desire to help a friend. No, he'd have to find Swanson on his own. He'd get his backpack out of the locker at the bus depot, and find a cheap hotel room. Then he would begin his search.

Richie was almost to the bus station when he noticed someone running toward him. Someone who was holding a gun.

"Cascade P.D! Freeze!" the man shouted as he continued to run toward Richie.

"Damn!" Richie realized that it was the cop from the night before. He had to get away. His only chance was the park and he wasted no time plunging into the wooded area. It didn't take long to reach one of the jogging paths and he was able to pick up his speed. He could hear the other man following him and it spurred him on.

Richie hoped the cop would tire quickly so that he could get away, but a quick glance over his shoulder told him that wasn't going to happen. If anything, the cop was closing the distance. This was going to call for something drastic. He wasn't sure what it was going to be.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

Richie glanced back again just in time to see the cop stop and aim his gun, but stopping wasn't in any of his plans. He heard the gunshot, then felt the burning pain as the bullet struck home in his left shoulder. He stumbled for a moment, then forced himself past the pain. It had been a tough lesson to learn, but he'd found that he could keep going when a mortal would have collapsed. Sometimes, that meant the difference between winning and losing a fight.

He burst out into the open and realized he'd reached an area where visitors could look out over a steep drop and see a river. A railing kept people from getting too close to the edge. He headed for the railing without hesitation and started to climb over it.

"Don't do it!" the cop yelled from behind him.

Richie looked down over the edge and swallowed hard. He hated heights. And the river wasn't that deep and it was filled with large boulders. This was going to hurt.

"It's not worth it. You'll never survive the fall."

Richie glanced back at the cop who was slowly moving closer. He almost sounded like he cared. But he didn't have much choice. He could already feel his shoulder healing. He wouldn't be able to explain that. He took a deep breath, then jumped.

Jim rushed to the edge and looked over. With his enhanced sight he could see the body floating face down, already caught up in the current and being swept toward the ocean. A few moments later, a huffing Blair caught up with him.

"Where did he go?" Blair wheezed out as he struggled to breathe.

"He jumped. As far as I can tell, he didn't survive." Jim reached for his cell phone and called the station. "Hopefully, they can recover the body before it reaches the ocean," he said after hanging up.

"Who was he?"

"He's the man I shot and killed last night."

* SENT * SENT

Richie came back to life amidst cold, swirling water. Disoriented, it took him several moments to figure out where he was and which way was up. Finally, he was able to make his way to shore. He wasn't the most graceful or accomplished swimmer, but he managed to make progress. Still, it seemed to take forever.

Once on shore, he quickly checked that he still had his sword, then took stock of himself.

"Great. Just great. Another outfit ruined. I can't afford this!"

With a disgusted look at his dripping clothes, Richie headed back to the bus depot and his duffel bag.

He got a few strange looks from people as he walked down the street, but no one approached him. Reaching the bus depot, he got his bag out of his locker and went into the men's restroom to change. Now he had a problem. Both of his coats had been ruined, so he'd have to take his duffel bag with him to hold his sword. He really didn't want to haul the bag around dirty alleys while he got rid of his ruined clothes, but there was another Immortal around and being weaponless wasn't a great idea either.

He finally decided to stash his bag back in a locker. If he felt another Immortal, he could always run. After all, he didn't intend to go far. Still, he felt almost naked without his sword.

Richie heaved a sigh of relief when he got back to the bus depot. So far, so good. He could get his bag and his sword and start looking for Swanson.

He never got the chance to reach his locker.

"Hold it right there!" a man's voice yelled at him.

Richie looked over and saw two men approaching him, guns at the ready. One was a black man dressed in corduroy pants and a loose fitting shirt. The other was a white man, nattily attired in a three-piece suit.

"Police, you're under arrest," the white man said.

"For what?" Richie protested. "I didn't realize it was illegal to walk into a bus depot in this town.

The black man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked back and forth from it to Richie. He finally held the paper so the Immortal could see the image. It looked just like him.

"The charge is murder," the black man said. "Now, assume the position."

Richie complied. There was no sense in trying to escape two armed police officers. There were too many other people in the bus depot. He couldn't risk someone else getting hurt. Besides, he figured he could talk his way out of this one.

* SENT * SENT

"Jim, will you listen to yourself," Simon protested as he paced back and forth in his office while studying Jim and Blair. "If you stick to this story, I.A. is going to hang you out to dry. Dead men do *not* get up and walk around the streets of Cascade again. Either he wasn't dead last night or you confused him with the man you chased in the park. They can't be the same person."

"And I'm telling you they were." Jim crossed his arms over his chest.

"Maybe they were twins," Blair suggested.

"That must be it," Simon agreed. "It's the only thing that makes sense. And the twin must have been the one to grab the body this morning. He didn't want anyone to identify his brother."

Jim nodded. "And one of them came in on the bus last night. They both must be in on the killing though. Otherwise, the other one wouldn't have run."

Simon's phone rang at that moment. The captain answered it, listened for a few moments, then said, "We'll be right down." He hung up the phone.

"Did they find the body?" Jim asked, already rising to his feet.

"No. Rafe and Brown just brought in a suspect they spotted at the bus depot that matches the description you gave the police artist."

The three men hurried downstairs to an interrogation room. It was set up with a two-way mirror so they could see the suspect.

"That's him!" Jim said, disbelief ringing through his voice. "That's the man I've shot twice. He can't be alive." He turned to Blair. "You saw him. Isn't he the one we chased through the park?"

Blair slowly shook his head. "I was never close enough to see him. By the time I caught up to you, he'd already gone over the side. I'm... sorry, Jim."

"It's not your fault, Chief. I just don't understand how he can still be alive."

"Maybe he's one of triplets?" Blair suggested.

Both police officers turned to glare out him. "Well, I'd rather believe that than believe that this guy has risen from the dead twice."

Brown joined them. "Suspect's name is Richard 'Richie' Ryan. Says he's from Seacouver, Washington and just got here last night on the bus. The bus driver had just come back on duty and remembered him when we showed him the sketch. In fact, he pointed out Ryan at the bus depot."

"Check him out with the Seacouver P.D.," Simon suggested. "Maybe they have something on him. And see if he had a twin brother."

"Or brothers," Blair chirped in. He gave Jim and Simon an innocent look.

"Seacouver... Seacouver... Wasn't that the town where they had a similar string of murders?" Simon asked.

"That's right," Jim replied. "Maybe Ryan is connected to this Duncan MacLeod somehow. Or maybe Ryan is the one they really want."

"Let's go have a chat with him. Sandburg, you wait here."

Blair rolled his eyes, but sat down in a chair where he could watch the proceedings. Jim and Simon entered the interrogation room. The captain signaled for Rafe to leave.

Richie looked at the two men, then smirked. "Time for the big guys, huh? You've got the wrong man. I don't know what it is that you think I've done, but it wasn't me. Hey, I just got to this burg last night."

"When did you arrive?" Jim asked.

Richie settled back in his chair. "Seems like it was around midnight."

"Then what did you do? Did you check into a motel?"

"I couldn't find one so I went sightseeing. I couldn't wait to see what the town had to offer."

"You went sightseeing. At midnight. By yourself?" Simon placed his hands on the table and leaned closer to Ryan.

"Sure. Best way to learn a town. Besides, I wasn't tired so I didn't want to waste my money on a motel room I wasn't going to use."

"And let me guess... You were never on a warehouse rooftop near the waterfront early this morning."

Richie opened his eyes wide. "What would *I* be doing on a warehouse rooftop? I didn't see any listed as tourist attractions."

"And you don't own a sword?" Jim kept trying to figure out if Ryan was lying or not, but it was difficult to do. The man's heartbeat was going a little faster than normal, but whose wouldn't be if they were being questioned by the police?

"Do I look like the kind of guy who would own a sword?" It didn't seem possible, but Ryan's eyes opened even wider as he adopted an innocent look.

"And you weren't in the park by the bus depot either, were you?"

"No, sir. Parks can be very dangerous places to be if you don't know your way around. People get attacked in parks, or you might accidentally fall into a river or something like that."

Jim wanted to yank the young man out of the chair and shake him until he'd wiped the smirk off his face. The comments about falling into the river and being attacked were just too close to be coincidental. "Take your shirt off," he ordered.

"Sure. Whatever you say." Richie stood up and peeled off his t-shirt before handing it to Jim. "If you like it that much you can keep it."

"Turn around. I want to see your back."

"Jim..." Simon reached out and placed a warning hand on the detective's arm. "What are you trying to prove?" he whispered.

"Look, Simon. I shot this man twice. If he was wearing a bullet-proof vest, then he'd at least have bruises. If not, he should have some wounds. For that matter, he has to have some bruises from being in the river, too."

Simon nodded. "Turn around, Ryan."

With another smirk, Richie slowly turned, holding his arms out straight at the shoulder. "Like what you see?"

There was nothing. No bruises. No scrapes. No wounds. Nothing to indicate that Ryan had ever been shot or jumped into a river.

Simon tossed the shirt back at him. "You can put this back on. We'll be right back." He pulled Jim out of the room. "Now what, Jim? Are you still going to insist you shot this man twice? There's no way we can take this to the D.A. He'd throw you out of his office."

"It's him, Simon. I'm sure of it. I just don't know how to prove it."

Brown joined them and passed over a folder. "Here's the info on Ryan. He was found abandoned as an infant. Raised in foster homes and orphanages most of his life. In lots of trouble as a juvie, but nothing since then. No known brothers or family."

"I'm going to have to let him walk, Jim," Simon said as he looked through the folder. "We don't have anything we can hold him on."

"But I *saw* him kill someone!"

"Jim, go home. Get some rest. That's an order."

Without another word, Jim stalked down the hallway, with Blair hurrying to catch up.

"What are you going to do, Jim?" Blair asked.

"I'm going to find out what's going on."

* SENT * SENT

Blair followed Jim down to the garage, and silently climbed into the passenger side of the truck. He continued his silence until Jim drove out of the garage and parked where they could see the front entrance to the police station.

"Ummm... Jim, what are we doing?" he finally asked.

"We're going to keep an eye on Ryan. Sooner or later, he'll mess up and we'll be there to catch him."

Blair stared at the cop for several long minutes. He finally spoke. "Jim, isn't it possible that you might have made a mistake? We both know that people can't come back to life."

"So, you think I'm crazy, too."

"I didn't say that!" Blair protested. "But you've been working a lot of hours and not getting much sleep. Maybe he just looks similar to the men you've..."

"The men I've killed?" Jim finished for him. "I'm telling you... Ryan was on that warehouse roof and I shot him. And he's the same one I chased through the park and shot again."

"Then how do you explain how he has no wounds?"

"I don't know, but I'm not crazy, and if you think I am, then I suggest you get out of the truck."

Blair didn't move. "I don't think you're crazy - at least most of the time. Guess I'll hang around for a while, just to be sure."

"Thanks, Chief." He turned his attention back to the police station. After about ten minutes, Ryan emerged from the station accompanied by a police officer. They got into a squad car and drove away.

Jim followed the squad car back to the bus depot, keeping his distance so they wouldn't be spotted. The officer dropped Ryan off, then drove away. A few minutes later, the young man came back out carrying a duffel bag.

"Hmmm... that bag looks long enough to hide a sword," Jim commented.

"Yeah." Blair almost bounced in place. "Are you going to stop him and search the bag?"

"No. We'll just follow him for a while."

For the next several hours, they trailed along behind Ryan. It wasn't the easiest thing to do since he was on foot. So far he hadn't done anything suspicious. He'd just bought a coat at a Salvation Army store, then checked into a cheap hotel near the waterfront. They were waiting for him to come back out.

Jim's cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. "Ellison."

"Should I ask why you're not at home?" Simon's voice almost blasted out.

"Uh... groceries... we didn't have any food so we went out to buy groceries," Jim lied.

"Right. Well, I have some more info on Ryan. Turns out he works for MacLeod - at a dojo. Martial arts and that kind of stuff."

"So, maybe he knows how to use a sword."

"That's the way I figure it."

"Maybe Ryan's been doing all the killing in Seacouver and putting the blame on MacLeod."

"Or maybe Ryan is down here to throw the scent off of MacLeod," Simon suggested. "He makes it look like the serial killer is here while MacLeod establishes an air-tight alibi. Then Ryan goes home, leaving two police departments without a suspect."

"Not this time," Jim replied. "Ryan's not going to kill anyone else while I have something to say about it."

"Just make sure you have enough proof, Jim. As it is, I don't know how to explain any of this to Internal Affairs."

"The next time, I'll make sure there's no doubt. Got to go, Simon," Jim added when he spotted Ryan riding a motorcycle down the street.

"Keep me posted," Simon ordered before hanging up.

* SENT * SENT

"Boy, I'd sure like to own that piece of machinery." Richie pointed to the cover of the motorcycle magazine the desk clerk had been reading.

"So would I, but it's way out of my price range. My bike was a whole lot cheaper than that one." The clerk sent a longing glance at the magazine before returning to business. He slid a key across the counter. "You're in room 203. Up the stairs and to the right. Checkout time is 11:00."

"Great. Say, you wouldn't happen to be willing to rent me your bike for the evening? I sure can't afford the price of those rental car places. Besides, I prefer a bike to a car any day of the week."

"Well..." The clerk looked down at Richie's registration card.

"I'd take real good care of it. Why I'd treat it better than I would my own. I wouldn't ask, but it's just that my grandma is real sick and I need a way to get to her place and run errands for her. She said she was almost out of medication and if I don't get her prescription filled... well, she might not make it."

"Well... I suppose. I wouldn't want to be responsible for your grandma dying." He reached under the counter and pulled out a helmet and a set of keys. "It's parked out back."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate this." Richie took his bag up to his room where he dug out his sword and hid it in his coat. A few moments later, he was on the bike and headed down the street.

He wasn't quite sure where to start. Swanson hadn't been listed in the phone book, and he didn't even know if the other Immortal was using his real name. His plan was to check out local bars and see if anyone recognized his description. If he had no luck, then he'd call Joe and see if he'd help.

* SENT * SENT

"This is the sixth bar he's been in," Jim complained. "What is he doing?"

"Getting drunk?" Blair suggested. "Listen, Jim, he doesn't know me. Why don't I go in and see what he's up to?"

"It's too risky." Jim smacked his hand against the steering wheel. "I wish I could hear something over that racket they call music."

"Well, do you mind if I go in and use the bathroom? Ryan will be in there for at least fifteen more minutes."

"Sure, Chief. Just don't do something stupid like talk to Ryan."

"Of course not." Blair wasted no time getting out of the truck and heading for the bar. Once inside, he looked around and spotted Ryan sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender. He went over and sat down next to him. "I'll have a beer," he ordered before turning to the other man. "Haven't seen you in here before."

"New in town," Ryan replied.

"Oh? Just moved here?"

"No, I came down to visit a friend."

Blair nodded. "Visiting friends. That's cool." He wasn't quite sure what he should ask next. He didn't want to make Ryan too suspicious.

"Say, maybe you could help me," Ryan said. "I thought I saw another friend when I arrived last night. His name is Charles Swanson. He's about six foot, 170 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, slight English accent. Does that ring any bells?"

Blair shook his head. "Sorry. Can't say that I've seen him around."

Disappointment filled Ryan's face. "Oh, well. Guess I'll have to keep checking around." He stood up, leaving his own beer practically untouched.

"Enjoy your visit," Blair called after him. He waited until Ryan had gone out the door before following. As he went outside, he saw the motorcycle heading down the street and almost ran to Jim's truck.

"What were you doing in there?" Jim asked, even as he pulled out into traffic to follow Ryan. "And why can I smell beer on you?"

"I was getting info. Ryan is looking for someone called Charles Swanson." Blair added the description he'd been given.

Jim reached for his phone and called it in. While he waited for any information Simon could dig up, he berated his partner. "What did I tell you? I said that you weren't supposed to talk to Ryan. You could have blown the whole thing."

"Yeah, but I didn't."

"But you could have."

"Yeah, but I didn't."

Jim rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Blair was impossible to argue with. Simon eventually came back on the phone, but had no information for them. "Dead end, Chief. Guess we'll have to stay on Ryan for a while longer."

Two bars later, Jim was beginning to wonder whether Ryan was playing games with him. It was getting close to midnight, and he was having a hard time staying awake due to lack of sleep.

Something different happened when Ryan came out of the bar this time. Instead of heading for his bike, he appeared to be looking around. Finally, he crossed the street where another man was standing.

"Hey, Jim. Something's going on." Excited, Blair grabbed Jim's arm while he pointed.

Jim waved off Blair while he quickly raised the dials on his hearing.

"So, we meet again," the stranger greeted Ryan.

"Yeah. And this time, I'm going to make sure you're a foot shorter when I walk away," Ryan replied.

"You got lucky the last time, kid."

"It wasn't luck, it was skill," Ryan boasted. He looked around. "Where do you want to do it?"

"Shall we return to the scene of our first battle? It seems only fitting."

Jim couldn't believe his ears. First battle? Was the stranger the victim that he'd thought was dead?

Ryan nodded. "I'll meet you there. I remember where it was." He slowly backed away until there was ten feet separating the pair of men. Only then did he turn and head for his motorcycle. The other man went toward a dark green Ford Ranger.

Jim gave the bike and car enough time to get a head start, then followed.

"What's going on, Jim?"

"I'm not quite sure. It sounded like they were going to fight - or do battle, as the one guy put it."

"Should I call for backup?"

"Not yet. I have to make sure." He knew that one more strange event would be the final straw for Simon. Jim would end up under psychiatric care - whether he needed it or not - before he could find out the truth.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim pulled up at the same warehouse where he'd first seen Ryan. Both men were already climbing the stairs. "Wait here," he ordered.

"No way. I want to be able to backup your story," Blair insisted.

His desire to keep Blair safe warred with his desire to have someone else be a witness. Finally, he nodded. "All right. Just stay behind me, Chief. And do everything I tell you to do."

"You got it," Blair agreed as he opened his door.

As they headed for the stairs, Jim suddenly realized he could hear the same sounds that had drawn his attention that morning. "There's that noise again. It's coming from the roof." He picked up his pace and heard Blair following him.

This time, when he peeked over the edge of the roof, he saw something totally different. Ryan had a sword, but so did the other man. The clanging noises came from the swords clashing together over and over.

This wasn't stage fighting. This was serious fighting. Both men were swinging their swords with deadly intent.

"Jim! Jim!" Blair hissed at him. "What's going on?"

Jim made room for Blair to join him so he could see the roof and the battle. His own attention was drawn back to the fighters. A part of him was entranced by the movements of the two combatants. It was almost like poetry in motion. The other part of him knew he had to stop this. He moved up to the roof.

Before he had a chance to identify himself, the stranger pulled a taser out of his pocket and tried to use it on Ryan. His ploy failed as Ryan managed to knock it out of his hand.

Ryan backed off and shook his head. "You should have known that wouldn't work any better than it did the last time, Swanson. It only works on Immortals who aren't prepared for it."

He then attacked again with a flurry of blows and managed to impale the other man through the abdomen. He withdrew the sword with a twisting motion as Swanson collapsed to his knees. Ryan drew back his sword high over his head. "There can be only one!"

Jim realized he was too late to save the other man, but this time Ryan wasn't going to get away. "Cascade P.D.," he yelled.

Ryan turned startled eyes toward the cop. "Damn! Not again," he muttered before turning to flee.

Jim wasn't going to let him get anywhere close to the edge of the roof this time. He quickly aimed and fired. His bullet hit home and Ryan fell forward. The cop hurried over and flipped the man over. Ryan's eyes were open but there was no sign of life. He checked for a pulse anyway. Then he checked again. And just to be certain, he checked a third time. Only then did he put his gun back in his holster.

This time Ryan was dead. No doubt whatsoever. And he had a witness.

"He's dead?" Blair asked as he joined Jim.

"Yes. And I'm not going to take my eyes off of him until they put him in the body bag and load him into the coroner's wagon."

"So, I should call Simon?"

"Yeah. We've got him this time."

Blair pulled out his cell phone. Before he had a chance to dial, a rasping breath brought their attention back to Ryan.

The man was breathing! And he was moving.

Jim pulled his gun out again and pointed it at Ryan. He had a hard time keeping it steady. "You're dead! I shot you!" He was beginning to think a long vacation was exactly what he needed.

Ryan glared at him. "Yeah, three times! Enough already. It hurts!"

Jim shook his head in denial. A dead man was talking to him.

"How did you do that?" Blair asked. "How did you come back to life?"

Ryan scratched his head. "Ummm... Watch out!"

Jim spun around in time to see the other man charging at them with his sword drawn. Without even thinking, he brought his gun up and fired. It stopped the man in his tracks next to one of the skylights. For a moment, the man tottered in place, then he fell sideways and crashed through the window.

The three remaining men hurried to look through the skylight. Swanson was lying on the floor below. As they watched, a large chunk of glass that had been hanging from the skylight fell toward the man, neatly severing his head.

"Ewwww," Blair said, before making a choking noise and backing up.

Jim watched as a hazy fog seemed to rise from the body and drift up toward the roof.

"Get out of here!" Ryan ordered.

"What is it?" Jim asked, even as he started to back away.

The fog started to surround Ryan, then the lightning bolts started. The man seemed to be consumed by them. Jim grabbed Blair's arm and ran toward the edge of the roof. They stopped there and looked back. The lightning seemed to be isolated around Ryan, so Jim decided they would probably be safe where they were. Until the other skylights started to burst. Then he hustled Blair far enough down the stairs where the building would offer them some safety.

"What was that?" Blair asked with a quavering voice. "I've never seen anything like that before."

"And you think I have?" Jim looked at his friend in disbelief.

When silence once again filled the night, Jim slowly moved back up the stairs and carefully looked over the edge of the roof. No lightning. No fog. Just Ryan on his hands and knees, head bowed. Pulling his gun out, Jim climbed the rest of the way to the roof and walked over to the man. Blair practically dogged his heels.

Ryan looked up as they got closer. "You won't need your gun," he said.

"I'll decide that. Want to explain what just happened?"

"Not really."

"Well, explain anyway."

Ryan sighed and shifted around to a sitting position. "You won't believe me."

"I can't believe I'm talking to a man I've killed three times," Jim pointed out. "Why should this be any different?"

That drew a grin from Ryan. "True. Okay, here goes. You didn't kill me because I'm immortal."

Jim's first instinct was to call the man a liar, but he'd seen the proof with his own eyes. "So, you can't die?" He pointed to the skylight. "Is he going to come back to life, too?"

"Not this time," Ryan said. "All that lightning and stuff? Well, that's his Quickening - kind of like his life force. Without it, he can't come back to life."

"So, this... Quickening attacked you? Because you killed him?" Blair asked.

"No, it didn't attack me. I absorbed it into my own Quickening. It's supposed to make me stronger." Ryan stood up. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way."

"Hold it right there, Ryan," Jim said. "You're under arrest."

"For what?" Ryan turned innocent eyes toward Jim. "I was only defending myself from this crazed madman who attacked me with a sword. *You* were the one who shot him, and you can't blame me if he fell through the skylight and was decapitated."

"He's got you there, Jim," Blair pointed out. "Technically, he didn't kill anyone - either this morning or tonight."

Jim glared at his friend. "Whose side are you on, Chief?" he asked although he had to give them that point. He slowly put his gun back in its holster. "How do I know that you weren't the one who killed the others?"

"Look, I just got into town last night. My friend, Mark Ryker, was supposed to pick me up at the bus depot. When I got there, I saw his car but no Mark. Then I heard the swordfighting in the park. I headed over there just in time to see Swanson pull a taser out of his pocket and use it on my friend. A moment later, and it was all over for Mark. I'm sure Swanson killed the others, as well."

"If you saw him do it, then why didn't you report it to the police?"

"Because we have our own code of justice. Swanson cheated by using a taser. He had to be stopped, and tossing him in jail wouldn't have accomplished anything. If he hadn't cheated, well... I don't know what I would have done. Immortals have been fighting each other for thousands of years."

"Wait a minute." Blair's eyes grew wider. "Are you telling us that you're thousands of years old?"

"Oh, not me. I meant other Immortals. I only became an Immortal a few years ago."

"How did you do that?" Blair asked. "Was there some kind of ritual that you performed? Can anyone become an Immortal?"

"The way I understand it, the seeds of immortality are there from the day we are born - or are made, or whatever. No one knows where we come from. Anyway, if you die a violent death, then your immortality kicks in. You stop aging and you heal quickly."

Jim rubbed at his tired eyes with one hand. "Enough already. This isn't getting us anywhere."

"Look. You've got your killer. I'll get on the first bus headed for Seacouver, tomorrow. And you'll never have to deal with me again. What more could you ask for?"

"First, you can come down to the station and sign a statement about what you saw last night."

"I'm not going to sign anything that says I'm an Immortal!" Ryan protested. "Or that I saw an Immortal battle. You must be nuts!"

"There are some people who would probably agree with you on that point," Jim said. "You don't have to mention immortality. Just that you saw Swanson kill your friend and that he chased you."

"Right," Blair chimed in. "You can say that you were afraid to tell us anything when you were brought into the station because you thought Swanson would continue to come after you."

"Which he did. And we got here just in time to save your life," Jim finished.

"And you get all the glory for catching the guy," Ryan said with a disgusted look.

"Would you rather I haul you over to a hospital where they can take you apart to find out how you can come back from the dead?" It was an empty threat. Jim would never subject anyone to one of his own worst nightmares, but Ryan wouldn't know that.

The other man shuddered. "I can do police reports. Then I can leave?"

Jim nodded. "Then you can leave. I'll even give you a lift to the bus station."

"Deal. But first I need to take the bike back to the hotel. I promised the clerk I'd be back before his shift was over. If your police department is run just as bad as Seacouver's, then this could take all night."

"Watch it, Ryan," Jim growled, before pulling his cell phone out.

* SENT * SENT

Jim signed his name to the final form. "That should do it," he told Blair as he glanced at the clock. Almost three in the morning. It had been an interesting twenty-four hours. Standing, he headed for Simon's office. Blair tagged along.

"Here's the final paperwork," he said, throwing the folder on the desk in front of his captain.

Simon picked up the folder and looked through it. "So, you missed Ryan when you shot at him - both times."

Jim nodded. "Guess I need to put some time in on the firing range."

"And neither he nor Swanson was dead yesterday morning."

"It was like you said. It was dark. I was tired. Ryan's fall was broken by the trash bags he landed on."

Simon stared at the detective for a long time before turning back to the report. "And Ryan never fell into the river?"

"No. He managed to grab a bush partway down the slope. It hid him from anyone standing at the top. Once we were gone, he managed to climb back up."

Simon carefully closed the folder. "Why do I get the impression that this report is a total piece of fiction?"

"There's no other possible explanation for all the events that happened," Jim pointed out.

"Unless you believe that Ryan is immortal," Blair chimed in.

"Well, we know *that* can't be true," Simon replied with a snort. "All right. Go home and get some sleep."

Jim and Blair started for the door. Just as they reached it, Jim turned around. "About that time off you wanted me to take... We'll see you in a few days." He didn't wait for a response, just hurried Blair toward the elevator before Simon had a chance to protest.

* SENT * SENT

The next day, Jim and Blair drove Ryan to the bus station, and waited to make sure he got on the bus.

"You'd think I was a criminal or something," Ryan protested. "I'm a big boy. I can get on the right bus without your help."

"Forget it, Ryan. I want to make sure you're gone. And if you know what's good for you, you won't come back to Cascade."

"All right, already. Besides, who'd want to come back to this town anyway?"

Once the bus had pulled out of the station, Jim and Blair headed for the truck. All of their camping and fishing gear was already loaded in the back. "Time for a little relaxation," Jim said with a grin.

"Sounds good to me."

* SENT * SENT

"Hey, Mac," Richie greeted Duncan the next morning when he entered the dojo.

"Richie! I didn't expect you back for a few more days. Did something go wrong while you were in Cascade?"

"Nope. It was a pretty dull trip," Richie lied. What Duncan didn't know about, he couldn't yell about. "I doubt anything exciting ever happens in Cascade. In fact, I can safely say that I never intend to go back there again!"

The end.


End file.
